Crowther watched her shoulders grow taut and her head bow. Awkwardly, he reached out a hand and laid it on her shoulders. He felt uncomfortable at making such a connection, but it did the job, for she flashed him a brief, sad smile. It made her look like a different person.
'Now we're never going to find out who he really was… or what he could do,' she said.
'Perhaps he was simply a good person,' Crowther said. 'No more, no less. Perhaps he had already done the job intended for him, and nothing more was planned for him. His work was over.'
Mahalia eyed him curiously. 'Do you believe in God, Professor?'
'I did, then I didn't, and now… I'm open to arguments.' The question unnerved him and he quickly moved the conversation away. 'So where do you come from, young Mahalia? You've been a little bit of a dark horse since we met. You've clearly had the benefit of a good education and there's an air of the well-to-do about you.' He kicked himself mentally for sounding so false, but trying to be nice didn't come easily to him. It felt as if they were two blind people groping round in the dark, trying to discover if the other was animal, mineral or vegetable.
She sighed and for a second he thought she was not going to answer. But the openness they had both displayed had worked a spell on her. 'I don't really like talking about the past,' she said. 'It's gone, dead. But… OK… I went to Cheltenham Ladies' College. A boarder. My dad and mum lived in Hampshire. He ran a financial services company. Mum did charity work, that sort of stuff. It wasn't easy to be black in those sorts of circles, but they did OK. They seemed to like it. When the Fall came and everything started going mad, I tried to get back to them. I stole a car with a couple of friends, and when it ran out of petrol I walked. Got back to the house just over a week later. There was no sign of them.'
'Do you have any idea what might have happened?'
She shook her head, but had a strange faraway look on her face, as if remembering long-forgotten facts. 'There was some food on the table, half-eaten, but they were gone — like they'd been snatched away. Who knows? Whatever… you know, the things they did… they didn't give them any sort of skills to survive in the world we've got now. In their world, they were big shots, but now… what use are people who only know how to make money?'
He raised his voice as a strong breeze rustled the undergrowth. 'You're very keen on this survival thing.'
She shrugged. 'When it comes down to it, you've only got yourself. No one else is going to look after you.'
He couldn't argue with that. Mopping his brow, he realised something curious: there was no cooling breeze, so how could the undergrowth continue to rustle? The answer came at him like a wolf, and he turned with dread. Purple light floated amongst the trees as far as his eye could see. The Lament-Brood's advance had been as silent as death, hidden behind the conversation and the background noise of the forest. He cursed himself for not being more on guard.
His shock was compounded when he saw that the army had at least doubled in size from the number that had emerged from the river. Could the Whisperers have altered some of the Gehennis, perhaps other of the forest's mysterious inhabitants? A virus, infecting, transforming, spreading exponentially.
Crowther urged Mahalia to run just as the insidious whispering grew louder. He imagined the virulent sound as snakes slithering through the vegetation, preparing to rise up once near them.
Mahalia was lighter on her feet and quickly moved ahead while the professor lumbered on behind, lungs burning, face red. Further back, but not much, the thunder of the Lament-Brood's mounts shook the ground.
Mahalia slowed when she realised he wasn't at her heels.
'Don't wait for me,' he said.
She hesitated.
'I said, don't wait for me!'
She broke ahead and he did his best to keep up, the whispering growing more intense, insinuating into Crowther's head. Black thoughts bloomed, their florid misery spreading through his mind. His legs grew leaden.
Give up. Lie down. Die.
With a rapid flick of his wrist, he smacked his staff against his forehead, and then even harder against his nose. He howled a stream of four-letter words and blood splattered on to his lips, but it earned him some respite. Ahead, he saw Mahalia veer into the trees. She'd seen something — probably a short cut, for the path was curling round upon itself. Against his better judgment, Crowther followed. Through the trees, there was blue sky; the forest's edge. Mahalia suddenly came up sharp, wobbling back and forth and trying to balance herself with flailing arms.
'Wait-!' she cried.
Crowther couldn't stop. He ploughed into the back of her, propelling her forward, over the edge of a cliff. He yelled out in shock, catching a branch to stop himself following her and then lashing out with his other arm. He was too late. With a scream, she went plummeting down.
Crowther could hear rushing water, glimpse the white of the rapids far, far below to his right, where the view over the lip was clear.
Panic exploded in him. He'd killed her! Ignoring the rapidly approaching Whisperers, he dropped to his knees and peered over the lip. Ten feet below, a thin ledge wound its way along the cliff face. There was no sign of Mahalia. A cry caught his attention, and away to his right he saw Matt and Jack edging their way as quickly as possible along the path towards him.
Dazed, Crowther lowered himself over the lip. He took one last glance at the purple mist drifting dreamily amongst the trees, and then he let go, not really caring if he overbalanced and was smashed on the rocks far below.
Jack yelled at him. He read the words on the boy's lips before the sound came to him: 'She's still alive!'
Perplexed, he leaned over the edge to find Mahalia clinging to a crevice not far below the edge of the path, her face bloody from a gash on her forehead. Overcome with a sweeping joy, Crowther tried to get to her, but Jack and Matt barged him to one side so that this time he almost did overbalance. Jack and Matt knelt down, reaching for Mahalia's hands, but the path was so narrow that they could barely gain any purchase.
Mahalia's arms trembled with the strain, and her face had the desperate fear of someone who knew their life was numbered in minutes. Then her wild, white eyes rolled to the right and the fear became more avid.
Crowther glanced back along the path to see one of the Gehennis, its horrific form twisted, the purple mist running through it like capillaries of smoke.
Aware of the approaching danger, Matt and Jack worked frantically, but still couldn't get leverage. Crowther stood up, braced his back against the rock and gripped both their belts. There was a brief moment of anxiety, and then they gave their trust to him, pushing themselves out over the edge and allowing him to take their weight, in the certain knowledge that if he faltered they would all go.
Crowther knew it, too, but he was determined in a way he had never been before to live up to what was expected of him. Matt and Jack lunged down to grab Mahalia's arms.
Behind the Gehennis, more of the Lament-Brood followed. The whispering even began to drown out the thunder of the water.
'I'm not listening!' Crowther roared.
With a heave, Mahalia came up. For a second they all feared they were going over, but Crowther held firm until Mahalia was on the path.
'No time to rest!' Crowther yelled. 'Move!'
Jack helped Mahalia along, though she looked fit to fall again, and Matt followed. The vividness of the experience gave Crowther a moment of startling clarity as he realised that he didn't want to die after all.
The Lament-Brood pressed hard at their backs as they edged along the precipitous ledge. Finally, the Court of the Dreaming Song came into view. They clambered up a flight of stone steps to a large flagged courtyard suspended over the gorge. An arched oak door twenty feet high led into the interior of the court. But as they hurried towards it, Matt held out his arms to stop them. 'This is a defensible position. We have to destroy the path to stop them getting in here.' 'How can we do that?' Crowther snapped. Nervously, he glanced back to see a
column of Lament-Brood barely two minutes away from the steps. 'Come on,' Crowther said. 'Inside.' 'No.' Matt grabbed Jack's shoulders. 'You've got to use that thing inside you. Like you did on the boat.' Dismay seeped into Jack's face. 'I can't!' Matt shook him hard. 'You have to.' 'Leave him alone.' Mahalia tried to pull Matt's hands free, but she was still weak from the shock. 'I can't control it,' Jack pleaded. 'I'm afraid… I could set off the whole Wish-Hex! I could destroy everything!' Matt thrust Jack in the direction of the path. 'Just do it. You controlled it before-' 'That was by chance!' '-you can do it again.' Jack hovered, looked to Mahalia for support, and then with shoulders sagging, he ran to the top of the flight of stone steps. 'What if he does take us out?' Crowther yelled above the roar of the water. 'He won't,' Matt said. 'They wouldn't have put the bomb in him if it could be randomly detonated. They're not stupid — they must have some kind of military mind to do a thing like that. There has to be a fail-safe.' 'You could have told him that!' Mahalia said. 'I want him upset and angry so he'll blow that path to kingdom come.' Jack looked small and forlorn against the stone rail that ran around the edge of the courtyard. He bowed his head, then pivoted at the waist. When he rose up, a sheet of silvery light ballooned out from him. All the sound was sucked out of the vicinity until, with a pop, the bubble of light burst. Matt, Crowther and Mahalia were knocked flat on their backs by a wall of pressure. A sonic boom made their ears ache and when they looked up Jack was clutching on to the rail for support. Beyond him a cloud of dust rose up from where the path had been, and mingling with it were the last few strands of purple mist.
Matt nodded with satisfaction. 'That did the trick.'
'There is another way of looking at it,' Crowther said. 'Let's hope we get a warm welcome, because there's no going back.' 'Somebody's having fun.' Matt nudged Crowther as they examined the large, impressive doors. Jack and Mahalia sat on the rail overlooking the gorge. They were locked in a deep embrace. There was more desperation than passion in their kiss, the recognition of kindred loneliness and a hunger to fill that void.
'Good for them,' Crowther said. 'At least someone is finding something worthwhile out of this whole miserable experience.'
'I don't know what to do about Caitlin,' Matt said.
'Yes, perhaps you should have thought of that before you blew up her one route into this place.'
'You know I had no choice.'
'Then she'll have to find another route… or not. There's nothing we can do about it.'
Crowther could see that Matt was obviously trying to distract himself from his anxiety by focusing on the matter at hand, but his fellow traveller was deeply affected.
Matt scanned the door for some way of opening it. 'I can't understand why no one has been out to us. Surely they must know we're here.'
'Triathus certainly implied they'd be eager to help us.' Crowther leaned on his staff. His back ached from the tingling insistence of the mask; its influence was growing more intense, so that sometimes it felt as though fiery fingers were digging into his spine.
'There seem to be two different forms of architecture,' Matt said, pointing to the monolithic blocks and the delicate, surrealistic detail that overlaid them.
'That's because it's the work of two different races.' Jack stood behind them, his arm around Mahalia's shoulders. 'The Golden Ones like to pretend they're the only people who ever ruled here, but there were others.' He walked over and patted one of the huge stone blocks. 'This comes from the Age of Warriors. The Drakusa were a hard, violent race — at least, that's what I heard. Not much is known about those who came before. Though before isn't really the right word in this place… you know, time doesn't have any real meaning. I suppose they still do exist, somewhere. The Golden Ones just aren't interested in finding out any more about them.'
'Did they influence humanity?' Crowther asked.
'I don't know… I suppose. It's said they had the power to shape rock, to pull up whole structures from the earth itself and mould it with the power of their minds. When I was in the Court of the Final Word, I made friends — although that isn't really the right word — with Math, the Keeper of Records. I think more than anything he was just keeping an eye on me once they'd done their work. But it gave me the chance to get into the library. They've got so many secrets hidden away in that place.'
'Sounds like you might be even more valuable to us,' Matt noted.
'More valuable than just a weapon?' Jack's tone suggested the hurt he felt at Matt forcing him to act against the Lament-Brood.
'Can we just get inside?' Mahalia snapped. 'After nearly dying I could do with a sit down. And don't for a minute think I've forgotten who almost sent me flying to my death.' She fixed an eye on Crowther, who studiously ignored her.
'Most of the great courts have doors that can be opened by anyone, if you know the right way,' Jack said. 'The Golden Ones aren't afraid of anything, so they never think anyone would be stupid enough to attack them.'
Matt eyed the professor slyly.
'What are you thinking?' Crowther said defensively.
'You could use the mask-'
'No! Absolutely not!'
'You could-'
'You saw what happened last time! Are you an idiot?' Crowther presented his denial forcefully, but he felt a feverish desire tingling throughout his entire body. The mask responded to his yearning with a gentle tug at his emotions.
'You're a smart bloke. You can control it… or you can learn to.'
'And in the meantime I risk destroying everything.'
'You're doing to him what you did to me!' Jack protested.
'I'm not trying to make anybody's life miserable, or to risk anything.' Matt sighed. 'But we're in a difficult situation with a lot at stake. Everyone has to do what they can to further our mission, even if there's a personal price involved.'
'I don't see you paying any price.' Crowther pushed past Matt and sat cross-legged in front of the door. His hands were sweating as he tugged the mask from the hidden pocket in his coat. 'You have a very unpleasant way of manipulating people to your ends. Do you like seeing everyone suffer?'
Matt dismissed the comment with a shake of his head, and went to watch the proceedings from the rail. Crowther held the mask for a second, but he was shaking with excitement and couldn't delay the gratification any longer. He held it up, and once it was near his face, the spider-leg protrusions burst from the sides and slammed into the holes in his head. There was a faint buzzing as it fixed itself to his skull.
*
'This time will he like honey.' The seductive voice of Maponus lapped around Crowther's mind. ' There will be no shocks… no fear. It will be like floating on your back downstream, watching the clouds pass by above you, feeling the warmth of the sun on your face, knowing you could sleep if you wanted. You will be at peace in a way that you never have been. And you will want this peace again. You will always want it, for the rest of your days. After this moment, you will desire to wear the mask… to connect with the greatness and wild wonder of my mind… for ever.'
And it was just as the mask said. Detached from everything that was happening, Crowther drifted in a state of pure joy and comfort, vaguely aware of the faint veins of blue that stretched across the door into a focal point three feet up from the ground and two feet in from the right outside edge. It glowed and shimmered before moving sinuously in a circle, round and round. It was a dragon eating its own tail.
Languorously, he rose, walked towards the door and placed his palm in the centre of the circling dragon. There was a fizz of blue sparks from his fingertips and the door swung open. 'See, mate, I told you there wouldn't be a problem.' Matt clapped Crowther across the shoulders.
The professor stared intently at the mask lying flat in the palms of his hands where it had dropped after it had removed itself from his head. He had tried to keep it clamped there, but it had refused his urgings. Maponus' faint, tinkling laughter echoed around his skull.
'Are you all right?' Matt asked. 'Of cou
rse. I'm absolutely hunky-dory.' Crowther walked away through the doorway so that Matt couldn't see the tears in his eyes.An enormous hall soared up into a vaulted roof filled with shadows. The main walls were constructed from the monolithic blocks of the Drakusa, but everything else, every pillar, balustrade, arch, column, buttress, ridge, rail and shelf, was carved in such an intricately detailed manner that it was almost hallucinogenic. It was impossible to take in the level of detail, for the longer they looked at something, the more that would emerge, and continually so. The symbolism was heavy and portentous, and while not obvious to them, it worked its magic in their deep subconscious. Strange, troubling thoughts blossomed, as if someone were whispering hidden information into their ears.
Mahalia caught Jack's arm. 'Can you see it? I thought it was an optical illusion — the light making the shadows shift…'
Yet the light source remained constant, the shadows sharp and hard.
'It's the carvings… they're moving,' Jack replied uneasily.
And they were, barely perceptibly but enough to trouble the companions. The strange beasts and alien figures continually shifted slightly as if they were alive; plants and trees moved in a faint breeze that didn't exist; birds adjusted their flight patterns. The effect was of the carvings shifting their perception as the four of them walked by, to get a better view of the strangers in their midst. 'I don't like it,' Mahalia whispered, and hated herself for sounding so pathetic. She knew she could cope with hard, physical things that would bend to her will or her blades, but this was beyond her control. 'Why is it so dark here?' Matt said with irritation. 'If there's a whole court full of Triathus' people here, you'd have thought they'd have invested in good lighting. You know, nipped down to Ikea for some of those nifty little lamps on wires you can slide around.' He cursed under his breath. 'The window let the light in, but there must have been some kind of mechanism to transmit it into the depths of this place.'
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